


Juicy

by letmypidgeonsgo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Humor, inappropriate use of fruit, possible incesty vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmypidgeonsgo/pseuds/letmypidgeonsgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange breakfast at The Burrow for Ron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juicy

**Author's Note:**

> Written eons ago for a challenge on the LJ community Books & Freckles. My prompt was 'juicy'.
> 
> A lot of this is ambiguous, including ages (this was written pre-DH, so Fred being alive doesn't necessarily mean they're still teenagers here) and what's going on in Ron's head.

Plates clanked as they were thrown haphazardly into the sink. Chairs squeaked along the linoleum as some tucked in and others dashed off to start the day. Errol hooted incessantly, eyeing Harry’s last bits of bacon. Ron Weasley, however, heard none of it.

His world, at that moment, had been reduced to one image, something he knew he would never get out of his head for as long as he would live.

*

He had clunked down an overflowing glass of orange juice beside an empty plate between Harry and Hermione before proceeding to help himself to the copious amounts of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, and other beloved breakfast foods his mum had laid out for them all.

As he struggled to keep his third shovel-full of food in his mouth, he glanced to his left and saw Harry anxiously flipping pages in the copy of the _Prophet_ that had just been delivered.

By the time he was half-way into the mountain of eggs on his plate, Fred and George, who had been sitting opposite him, stood up abruptly, excusing themselves with too-innocent smiles in their mother’s direction before hurrying up back the stairs, whispering conspiratorially to each other.

It wasn’t until he had started on his third sausage that Ron even noticed her. Ginny, who was sitting to the left of where George had been a few moments prior, directly across from Hermione, had cleaned her plate before half-standing to reach over to the bowl of fruit between Harry and himself, retrieving an orange. _Odd_ , Ron thought to himself. _Why would anyone want fruit when there was so much perfectly good, decent food laid out for them?_

Finally conquering sausage three and pausing to snatch an untouched blueberry muffin off an oblivious Harry’s plate, Ron noticed Ginny again. She had peeled the orange and broken off a single wedge. And then his sister - his little, innocent baby sister, the one in whose bed he had hidden slimy frogs to make her squeal, the one he had chided for not having the same bits he had when they took baths together as toddlers, the very one who had had a goofy smile and a dreamy look in her eyes every time he had mentioned Harry that summer after his first year – proceeded to positively corrupt that innocent piece of fruit!

Eyes closed, she began by sliding the firm, pointed tip of her tongue down the wedge’s fleshy little seam, stopping at the bottom to make slow, languorous swirls at its tip before continuing back up to where she had begun, this time pressing the entire span of her – oh god, dark pink and saliva-coated – tongue along the ridge. Evidently satisfied with her first pass, Ginny’s eyes shot open; Ron could see they were slightly glazed-over, her pupils dilated to cover all but the tiniest slivers of her chocolate-coloured irises. She sat completely still for several moments, and Ron’s brain demanded he find out just what it was she was so enraptured by the sight of. A glance to his right reminded him who was sitting on his other side: Hermione.

Oh, this could not be happening. But his cock, and that damned teenage brain of his, seemed to be ganging up on him again, because as soon as he closed his eyes, he was seeing Hermione laid out before his quasi-innocent sister, making little whimpering noises and shifting as Ginny licked and slurped and practically devoured the dripping cunt of his best friend and long-time crush. He had no problem picturing a head topped with red hair so like his own half-bobbing between pale knees, Ginny moaning contentedly, but not so loud as to drown out Hermione’s own noises of ecstasy as a pale hand slipped between her legs and began working counterpoint to Ginny’s skilled tongue…

He didn’t even realise his hand had slowly drifted to the throbbing bulge in his trousers until Harry jabbed him sharply in the ribs. Ron’s eyes snapped open to glare at his friend for interrupting his reverie before quickly glancing around the table to see if anyone else had noticed. They hadn’t.

“Mmm, juicy!” Ginny declared, placing the now-debauched piece of fruit on her empty plate and, with a wink aimed just to the right of his field of vision, rose from her chair before half-skipping out the door into the garden.

Ron realised, suddenly, that his hearing had returned the moment Ginny had spoken. He sat there for several more moments, staring at Ginny’s now-empty seat, until Hermione mumbled something he couldn’t make out over the clamor in the room and dashed off as well. Everything came back into focus, and then...

A hoot, a shout, a crash: Errol swooped down, landing awkwardly on the edge of Harry’s plate, which flipped into his lap. He jumped up, yelling and waving his hands to shoo the bird away, knocking over Ron’s untouched glass of juice in the process, which flowed in its own little stream over the edge of the table, straight into Ron’s lap.

Ron had never been so grateful to have something cold spilled on his crotch in his life.


End file.
